


Tomorrow Comes

by Yoite



Series: FebuWhump 2021 [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Depression, FebuWhump2021, Febuwhump, Fluff and Angst, Good Omens Bingo 2021, Holy Water, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands Bingo (Good Omens), M/M, Musicals, Pre-Slash, Prompt Fill, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29165283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yoite/pseuds/Yoite
Summary: TW: SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, DEPRESSION.Crowley wants to kill himself. Aziraphale just wants to catch a show. Angst turning to fluffy (unintentional) hurt/comfort.A one-shot for FebuWhump 2021 (Day 2: "I can't take this anymore") & Good Omens Bingo 2021 (Prompt: "Watching a Musical").
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: FebuWhump 2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141988
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33
Collections: Good Omens Bingo 2021, febuwhump 2021





	Tomorrow Comes

The church outside of Crowley's window took a long time to grow. He had been there from the beginning, having always favoured residing in Mayfair, even before it was called Mayfair, since back in the days when it was the manor of Eia and no one had ever heard of double glazing. The demon was a creature of habits, all of them bad. He had witnessed the first brick being laid, the beautiful stained glass windows being fitted, the most accomplished masons working tirelessly to refine the exquisite carvings. Then he watched it all being blown to smithereens during the Second World War. And re-built again after. There was a jazz band playing there tonight, not that it was of any use to him.

Crowley swirled the remaining wine around the tapered bowl of his glass, taking a few long swigs as he gazed at the incandescent life on the other side of his window. The soft yellow glow of the church against the dark blue of the settling dusk. The ever-hurried flashes of passing cars. The screaming neon of cafes and shops. People's faces, shimmering under the street lights. Humans were funny creatures. Every day they would wake up from their dreams, get dressed and go outside, still dreaming, bursting with purpose. And then they would die. Some got rewarded, of course, if you could call it that. Personally, he wasn't too keen on Heaven. Been there, got the T-Shirt, burnt the T-Shirt. Life seemed like so much pain for so little gain. And in recent decades and years and seconds, the same had been true of his own non-life. Boredom was the worst kind of pain.

He had promised Aziraphale that the Holy Water was not a suicide pill, of course not, but it was a quiet, lingering temptation calling to him from behind Lisa Gherardini's mysterious smile. There was no need for him on Earth. The more advanced the human race became, the less people had to endure physical and mental hardship, the more time and finesse they could dedicate to hurting each other in a kaleidoscope of ways. As a demon, he just couldn't match that level of creativity. It required free will. As for Hell, there certainly wasn't any need for him in a place where no one had ever heard of Stanley Kubrick or owned a decent sound system.

Sometimes, Crowley would spend a whole afternoon pondering the various ways in which he could make use of the little thermos bottle in his safe. He wasn't sure how quickly its contents would work, or how painful the process would be. Drinking it seemed like the obvious solution, but for some reason the thought of the liquid running down his tongue and burning away his throat gave him nausea. Injecting it was another option, but he feared that once a drop entered his bloodstream he would not have the strength or resolve to press the syringe all the way, and he could not be certain that a drop would suffice to disintegrate him. 

Looking out of the window now, he was wondering what kind of note he would leave Aziraphale. Nothing trivial like 'I can't take this anymore', of course. Maybe -

The phone rudely cut off his thoughts. Crowley let it ring and go to voicemail, sipping his Sangiovese and watching his reflection in the dark window pane copy him. 'You know what to do. Do it with style.' Well, that was a given.

"Crowley? Hello. Uh. I had sort of an idea. But I guess you are off somewhere, doing things, so, heh, I'll just -"

It took the demon a fraction of a second to stride across to his desk and pick up the receiver.

"What?"

"Oh, you're in. _Hello_."

"You said that already."

"So, I was thinking, Les Misérables has just returned to the Sondheim Theatre, we could go, see how they refurbished the -"

"Angel -", Crowley sighed, shaking his head, "you've watched that weepy nonsense 387 times, if I recall correctly."

"You know it's my favourite. Not as thorough as the books, obviously, but -"

"None of those mushy French Revolution bits are even true. We were _there_."

"You know you love it. All the violence and the suffering, and people making each other miserable all of the time."

"I emphatically do _not_ love it", Crowley rubbed the bridge of his nose, "But why is it that _you_ love all the violence and the suffering?"

"It's the music", the angel's dreamy sigh wafted through the receiver, "isn't it just heavenly?"

"Is that supposed to sell it to me?"

" _Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise_ ", Aziraphale joyfully crooned a line from the Epilogue.

Crowley could not help but feel a tug at the corner of his lips. He had not smiled in days, sometimes he thought he was forgetting what it felt like, from a purely physical point of view. 

"You have the voice of an angel, Angel."

"Well, uh, comes with the job description."

"Maybe I could just listen to you sing instead, and then we don't have to fork out three hundred quid."

"Don't be silly", Aziraphale muttered. Crowley could vividly imagine him right now, blushing a little, not knowing what to do with his eyes or his hands. "Anyway, it just so happens that two loge tickets went unsold."

"Uh-huh."

"They must have been blown out of the box office by a gust of wind and landed right in front of my shop."

"Would you imagine that."

"Maybe we could get dinner, too, they are doing a scrumptious pre-show menu at the -"

Crowley closed his eyes, letting the sound of the angel's voice seep into him. It was the brightest, the warmest light of all.

"Fine. Whatever. I'll be at the shop in ten."

He put the receiver down, barely managing to grab his jacket as his feet were already carrying him out of the door. Another line from the Epilogue came to the demon's mind and he hummed it under his breath as he stepped out into the gleaming streets of London.

_Take my love, for love is everlasting._

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic is, of course, the last line from Les Mis, which also happens to be my favourite musical.
> 
> Comments make me happy! Please leave me a note. :D


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